Let the Tortured Body Cease
by Sumiko Kenchi Haimoto
Summary: Taking place right at the end of Becoming Part 2, Joyce believes Buffy is delusional and has her committed. Now Buffy is trying to survive in an asylum and is slowly becoming as crazy as her mother believes her to be. BG eventually.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:  
**Well, I shouldn't have started something new when its been so long since I updated the other story I'm working on, but I had this idea in my head and it wouldn't go away. So I decided to get it down on paper. This story is coming to me far more quickly than most stories I've written. I wrote the first ten hand-written pages in a matter of six hours last week, not including this little prologue. And so far, I'm rather proud of how its turning out.

Now, a couple things you need to know. This story begins at the end of Becoming Part II. If you haven't watched all of Season Two yet, then turn around and leave. And yes, that means you Nathan. I don't care how curious you get. If you haven't finished watching the Season Two DVD's I lent you, you better stop reading right this minute and go watch another episode.

For everyone else: I know that in Becoming Part II Joyce sees Buffy dust a vampire, and that, I'm sure helps her come to terms with the truth, but in this, we make the assumption that this either did not happen, or Joyce decided to believe it was a trick of the light or a fancy prank. It doesn't matter which you'd like to believe, just so long as you keep in mind that Joyce honestly believes that Buffy is insane. Period. Also, this story will eventually (though not or awhile) become a Buffy/Giles pairing story. If you don't like this pairing, think it's a travesty for Buffy to love anyone but Angel, Riley, or Spike (and believe me, I love them too, but Giles is better), or think its impossible for two people of such a huge age difference to fall in love (and its not, believe me) than you should also stop reading.

Now, go have fun kiddies.

**Last Time On Buffy the Vampire Slayer…**

Buffy crouches beside the lifeless body, the edge of her easter-egg blue jacket just touching the pool of blood. Kendra's lifeless face stares up at her. Tears well up in Buffy's eyes. And then a voice shouts: "Freeze! Put your hands up. Back away from the girl slowly!"

* * *

Xander stands beside Willow's hospital bed, alternating his gaze between his unconscious best friend, and his girl friend standing in front of him. "I ran," Cordelia says softly, "I think I made it through three counties before I realized nobody was chasing me. Not too brave." 

Buffy says, "It was the right thing to do."

"Did Giles keep up with you?" Xander asks.

"I didn't see Giles."

"Buffy stares at Cordelia, eyes wide. "You mean he's not in the hospital?"

Xander answers: "no."

* * *

Angelus watches Giles as he stands up. "What do you want?" Giles asks. 

Angelus grins. "I wanna torture you," he says matter-of-factly.

* * *

Spike looks at her stubbornly. "He's got your Watcher. Right now, he's probably torturing him." 

Buffy stares at him. "What do you want?"

"I told you. I want to stop Angel." Spike pauses and snickers. "I want to save the world."

* * *

Joyce looks at Buffy, confusion and dismay evident on her face, as she listens to Spike and her daughter talk. "Buffy... what... is going on?" she demands. 

Buffy looks at her mother for a moment, exchanges a look with Spike and realizes that it's time. She steps up to her mom and looks up at her, hoping against hope for understanding. "Mom…" she pauses nervously. "I'm a Vampire Slayer."

Joyce just blinks her eyes, raises her brows and shakes her head in complete mystification and a sudden, inexplicable fear.

* * *

Joyce and Buffy stare each other down, both furious, both scared, both stubborn as hell. "Well, it stops now!" Joyce snaps. 

"No, it doesn't stop!" Buffy shouts back. "It _never_ stops! Do- do you think I chose to be like this? Do you have any idea how lonely it is, how dangerous? I would _love_ to be upstairs watching TV or gossiping about boys or... God, even studying!" she adds, her voice desperate and tortured. "But I have to save the world... again."

"No. This is insane." Frantic, she takes Buffy by the shoulders. "Buffy, you need help."

Angrily, Buffy shakes her mother's hands off. "I'm not crazy! What I need is for you to chill. I _have_ to go."

Joyce shakes her head. "No. I'm not letting you out of this house."

"You can't stop me."

Joyce grabs her and says firmly, "Oh yes, I…" only to have Buffy shove her away, knocking her into the kitchen table, and head to the door. "You walk out of this house; don't even think about coming back!" Joyce shouts. Buffy gives her a long stare, full of sadness and anger and resignation, and then she walks out of the house.

* * *

Seeing Jenny, though Drusilla kneels beside him, Giles whispers: "We have to get Angel away from Acathla…" 

Drusilla whispers, "Angel himself? He's the key?"

"H-hi… his blood," he stuttered, filled with pain and weakness. "He mustn't…"

"Shh…."

Drusilla kisses him. A moment later, as Angel and Spike call to her, she pulls away and Giles stares at her, realizing with painful clarity what he's done.

* * *

Xander appears beside Giles, calling his name, untying the ropes around his raw and bleeding wrists. "Can you walk?" the boy asks. 

"You're not real," is Giles' answer.

"Sure, I'm real."

Giles defiantly states, "it's a trick. They get inside me head. Make me see things I want."

Xander pauses and stares him in the face. "Then why would they make you see me?" he asked.

Giles considers. "You're right, let's go."

* * *

In a white room, still in her hospital gown, with head thrown back and eyes grown black, Willow chants in a voice not entirely her own. "Asa sa fie! Asa sa fie! Acum!" 

In the mansion, Angel drops his sword and cradles a cut on his hand.

In the hospital, Willow shouts the final word: "Acum!"

Buffy raises her sword for the kill, then pauses as Angel gasps and his eyes flash red. Suddenly he is on the floor, coughing and sobbing. "What's going on?" he whispers fearfully.

* * *

Buffy whispers, "I love you." 

"I love you," Angel whispers back.

She touches his lips with her fingers softly, lovingly. And then breathes softly: "Close your eyes." She nods reassuringly when he pauses, and he closes his eyes. Desperately fighting tears, she kisses him passionately, tenderly. Then she steps away, draws back her sword and thrusts it deep into his chest. Shocked and pained, Angel's eyes fly open, and a bright light bursts from the sword. Angel reaches out for her, but Buffy backs away, eyes filled with tears, face filled with horror. He glances down at the sword impaled through his chest, then back up to her face. And she can only stare at him and step further back.

"Buffy..."

After a lifetime of sorrow and an eon of pain etched into a single moment, the light of the portal behind him finally swallows Angel up. The jaws of Acathla snap shut. And Buffy begins to sob.

* * *

And Now…

**Let the Tortured Body Cease**

_Slow, slow,_  
_And still as Death, came Sleep and Death_  
_And looked at me with quiet breath._  
_Unbending figures, black and stark  
__Against the intense deeps of the dark,  
__Tall and like trees. Like sweet and fire  
__Rest crept and crept along my veins,  
__Gently. And there were no more pains…  
__Was it not better so to lie?  
__The fight was done. Even gods tire  
__Of fighting... My way was the wrong.  
__Now I should drift and drift along  
__To endless quiet, golden peace…  
__And let the tortured body cease._

-- _The Quality of Courage_, Stephen Vincent Benet

**Author's Note 2:  
**Just to let you know, Stephen Vincent Benet is a fantastic American poet from the… uh… sixties or seventies, I think. Every chapter's title comes from an excerpt from either a poem written by Stephen Vincent Benet, or song lyrics by Leonard Cohen. I'll let you know what they come from specifically as each chapter comes.


	2. 1: And They Remain

**Author's Note:  
**Alright, I forgot one important thing in the Author's Note on the prologue. The usual disclaimer… Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all its characters are the property of Joss Whedon and I cannot claim his pure genius as my own. The only one I made up myself is Dr. Robert Matheson. Everything else belongs to him. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoy writing it. And PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review and tell me what you think.

**Let the Tortured Body Cease **

Chapter One: And They Remain

_Ah God,  
__I trod them down where I have trod,  
__And they remain, and they remain,  
__Etched in unutterable pain,  
__Loved lips and faces now apart,  
__That once were closer than my heart –  
__In agony, in agony,  
__And horribly a part of me…  
__For Lethe is for no man set,  
__And in Hell may no man forget._

-- _The Quality of Courage_, Stephen Vincent Benet

* * *

Buffy walked out of the mansion. Blood trickled from small cuts, and bruises were already beginning to show, and every muscle and joint ached, but all in all she had escaped this particular apocalypse largely unscathed. Except for the fact that her heart now lay in a million tiny pieces on the floor of the mansion. Hanging limply at her sides, her hands felt strangely empty without her sword, but she couldn't go back to retrieve it. She had imbedded it in her vampire lover's heart. 

She kept walking, her face rigid and blank as a slab of stone, and she did not stumble or falter. But this was only because her mind was no longer attached to her body. Her legs moved smoothly of their own accord, without conscious choice or thought. Her mind was otherwise engaged – crying, screaming. Oh God! I can't do this, it sobbed, and subsequently shut down.

"_I love you…"_

_"Close your eyes…"_

She clenched her eyes shut tight and tried to force the memories from her head, but nothing could make them disappear. And still her feet kept moving forward. The tears she had sobbed moments before were gone, but the memories remained vivid. When she finally reached her house, she paused. Standing in the middle of Revello Drive, she stared at the dark house and her mother's words came unbidden to her ears.

_"You walk out of this house; don't even think about coming back!"_

Buffy flinched at the memory and steeled herself for the onslaught of tears sure to come. Only to find they didn't. Her throat didn't get tight, her eyes didn't sting and burn, no tears slid down her cheeks. It was beyond her, it seemed, to cry anymore. Her tears were gone for good, perhaps. Well, thank God for small favors.

Taking a deep breath, she took another step toward the house. And then another. And another. Until she was standing at the front door. Maybe, just maybe, her mother hadn't meant what she'd said. She supposed she'd find out if and when the door got slammed in her face.

Then, just as she was about to knock on the door, her Slayer hearing caught the sound of two voices. "Doctor, I just don't understand what's happened to her," she heard her mother say.

And a man's voice replied, "well, at this point it is difficult to determine what might have triggered the delusions."

Buffy's eyes widened.

"Was it the divorce?" Joyce asked in a small, guilty voice.

"It may ore may not have been. It may have been something else entirely. It may have been nothing at all – no specific event at any rate. But in all cases, delusions are a product of a person's inability to accept or cope with reality."

"Oh God, what am I going to do!" Joyce sobbed.

And the doctor said, "Do not worry, Mrs. Summers. The Sunnydale Mental Institution has one of the best staffs in the country. Psychologists and psychiatrists come from everywhere to practice here; they're attracted to the numerous and unique cases here. For such a small town, Sunnydale's history of mental instability is quite striking. I've often wondered if it might be something in the water."

At that, Buffy could not seem to help but smirk, finding such dark humor in the comment. Idiot… she thought derisively.

"Doctor, there's something else…"

"Yes?"

"Just this evening, a couple of police officers came looking for Buffy. They… they said… they said she's a… a murder suspect."

"Good Heavens!"

"I don't think she did it!" Joyce insisted quickly, adding nervously: "I think… But… But if she did, they couldn't prosecute her, right? Not if she's this sick."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Summers. If it comes down to that, our doctors will be happy to testify at a hearing evaluating her competency to stand trial, insisting on her mental incapacity."

Mental incapacity my ass, Buffy thought with a growl.

"Thank God," Joyce whispered. "I just hope she'll be alright again in time."

"We shall take very good care of her, I assure you. And with hard work, and perhaps a touch of good luck, you shall have your daughter back."

Joyce sighed and was silent for a moment. Then she said: "I was so furious when she left, I told her not to come back. She might try to run away. We… we might have to involve the police in order to find her. And she's much stronger than usual girls… I'm not really sure how or why…"

"I believe our people will be able to handle it without involving the police."

"I hope so. I… I don't want her to hurt anybody."

Buffy paled at that. Knowing her mother believed her capable of hurting people, possibly of murder… She couldn't listen to anymore. Furious, despairing, her heart breaking, she turned away from the door and quickly climbed up to her bedroom window. Frantically, she changed clothes, pulling on a t-shirt and a pair of comfortable overalls. Then she grabbed a duffel bag and rapidly began packing. There was no point in staying here any longer. Everyone she loved had turned on her. Angel. Her mother.

Downstairs the phone was ringing.

"Hello," she heard her mother say, answering the phone. Buffy zipped up the bag and turned back to her window. "God! Is he alright?" her mother gasped. Silence. "Yes, thank you for telling me. Goodbye."

"Is it about Buffy?" the doctor asked when Joyce had hung up the phone.

"No… Mr. Giles, Buffy's high school librarian. He's been hospitalized. The doctor I spoke to said he's in very serious condition."

Buffy froze. Not everyone had turned on her. Giles… And thinking his name galvanized her, urging her into motion. Without another thought, she bolted out the window.

Downstairs in the living room, the doctor was asking Joyce: "why would the hospital call you, though?"

"Mr. Giles is a sort of mentor for Buffy. I think they've gotten to be very good friends."

"Is there anyway she might have found out he's been hospitalized?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"It might be a good place to begin looking for her. I'll have my people go over there to check."

Joyce simply nodded silently and poured herself another drink.

* * *

Buffy ran through the hospital doors, her duffel bag swinging back and forth from her shoulder, blood still dripping down her face, ignoring the calls from several nurses. Down one hallway and then the next, she ran, calling out to her friends. Then suddenly, Xander appeared from nowhere and grabbed her into a giant hug. 

"Xander! Where's Giles! Is he…?" she cried out.

Xander clasped her shoulders and looked down at her solemnly. "He's… he's in surgery right now. He had some… some internal bleeding."

"Oh God," she whispered, and her knees buckled. If Xander hadn't held her up, she would have crashed into the hard tile floor. Her blood pounded in her ears and she could feel her mind going blank. "He swore…" she breathed. "Spike swore he'd… Oh God! If Giles dies I'll hunt him for all eternity, I won't kill him, I'll decimate him!"

Xander stared at her with wide eyes as she breathed violent thoughts and teetered on the edge of fainting. "Buffy," he said. She didn't reply. "Buffy," he said again, sternly. "Buffy!" he yelled, punctuating the word with a sharp shake. Her eyes darted to his face, wide, dark, wild, fathomless; her face was white as fine bone china. "The doctors say they're pretty sure he's going to be alright because we got him here soon enough. If even another hour had gone by, he probably would've died. But he's not going to. We got him out in time. _You_ got him out in time."

Buffy nodded silently, her eyes still wide. Shock was not a strong enough word to describe her state of mind at that moment. Terrified was not a strong enough word. No word came to mind.

"How's Will?" she whispered.

"Fine. Resting. She says the spell worked. She says she could feel it working."

Buffy glanced at him but did not say anything.

"So? Where is he?" Xander demanded, "isn't he going to come apologize, face the damage he did, seek forgiveness, all that crap…?"

Buffy didn't reply. This time, she didn't even look at him. She started walking forward, and Xander decided to keep his mouth shut for once. Striding forward to catch up with her, he grabbed her elbow and steered her into Willow's room.

"I told the doctors to come here when they have news of Giles," Xander said. Buffy nodded again and walked into the room. Silently, she came up beside Willow, nodding to Oz who sat on the other side as she knelt on the floor near the bed and took her best friend's hand.

"Where's…?" Willow began, but Xander shook his head urgently and she clamped her mouth shut. Without saying a word, Buffy laid her head on Willow's arm and closed her eyes. Within ten minutes she had fallen asleep.

_"Hello, Lover." Cold, quiet bravado._

_A scornful glance. "I don't have time for you."_

_"You don't have a lot of time left."_

When she awoke, her friends were whispering. She sighed softly and for a moment, pretended she was still asleep. Even in her dreams, the memories remained. She could not escape them, and she needed a moment to recover from the dream.

"What's with the duffel bug?" Oz whispered to no one in particular.

"I don't know," Xander whispered back, "but don't expect _me_ to ask her. She's acting a little strange. Unpredictable."

Oz nodded. Buffy took a deep breath.

"I was running away…" Buffy answered as she sat up and squeezed Willow's hand affectionately.

"What!" Willow squealed at Buffy's answer.

"How long was I asleep?" Buffy asked, as if she hadn't just shocked the entire room.

"Uh… Not more than an hour…" Xander replied, looking stunned.

"Any news of Giles yet?"

"Um… no, not yet."

Buffy nodded, stood, and stretched, wincing at her creaking joints and screaming muscles.

"Okay… Now, stop and rewind!" Xander exclaimed. "What the hell was that about running away?"

Buffy sighed and glanced down at the duffel bag she had dropped on the floor by Willow's bed. "I… I was going to run away. My mom… When I told her what was going on, when I told her I had to leave, she told me if I left I wasn't allowed to come back. But I couldn't stay and explain things to her better. I didn't have time. Angel was going to destroy the world. Giles was… Giles was being tortured. So I left her standing there in the kitchen. When… after… when I went home, I thought maybe she'd changed her mind. Maybe she hadn't meant it. But…"

She paused and they all looked at her expectantly.

"But…" Willow prompted.

"She's… She was talking to a doctor… from… from the mental institution. She's going to have me committed."

Willow, Xander, and Oz all looked at her silently, wide-eyed with shock. Then Xander spluttered, "She can't do that! You're not crazy!"

"Well, not in the usual way, at least…" Willow added impishly.

"Not helping here, Will!" Buffy exclaimed.

"Sorry…" she said sheepishly. "Stress reaction. You know? Laugh because you're too scared to cry…"

Buffy glanced at her and gave her a small smile. "I know. It's alright…"

"But you're mom isn't!" Xander bellowed frantically. "We just… just have to prove you're telling the truth."

"At this point… I think if we showed her a vamp, even if I dusted him right in front of her, she'd probably rather commit herself than believe what she saw was real."

"So… So what're we supposed to do?" Willow asked in a timid voice.

Oz hugged her and said: "We'll figure something out, Will. We won't let them take Buffy away."

Willow smiled at him and Buffy looked at him and said softly, "Thanks, Oz."

And then, almost as if just to prove Oz wrong, two men burst into the room, followed by a frantic nurse. "This is a hospital! This patient needs rest! What do you think you're doing!" the nurse yelled.

"That her?" one of the men asked the other.

Glancing at a photo of Buffy, the second man nodded. Then he said, "Miss Summers, please come with us. We've been asked by your mother to retrieve you."

"I don't care what my mother asked you to do," Buffy said.

"Miss Summers, I'm afraid we must insist."

"Insist all you want. Ain't gonna happen," Xander said, standing in front of Buffy.

Buffy smiled at his back and poked her head around his shoulder. "You heard the man. Now leave."

"We have a court order permitting us to use force if the need arises. Please don't make this more difficult than it has to be," the first man said. "We don't want to hurt you."

Buffy smirked, "I'd like to see you try."

With that, both men lunged. The first man, blocked by Xander, punched the boy and then kicked him twice when he landed on the floor. The second man grabbed Buffy by both arms and tried to pull her toward the door. Angrily, Buffy kneed him the stomach and he stumbled backwards with a grunt. At the same time, Xander climbed slowly to his feet and tried to grab the first man around the middle from behind. Oz joined in, trying to help Xander keep a hold of him while Willow watched, horror-struck and silent. Unfortunately, neither boy could stand up to the large man. He punched Xander once in the head with tremendous force and smirked as he collapsed, knocked out cold. Then he turned to Oz and backhanded him across the face. Oz spun and landed across Willow's feet.

"Stay down, boy," the man growled at Oz.

Buffy stared at the man who was poised to lunge at her again and smirked. She was expecting an easy fight. These weren't vampires after all. They were normal, weak, if somewhat beefy, humans. But suddenly, both men tackled her, slamming her back into the tile floor as one sat on her to pin her down and the second whipped out a syringe. Oz struggled to his feet and tried to pull the man off her, but couldn't manage it. Willow was screaming for help. And the needle of the syringe slid into Buffy's slender neck with a sharp pain.

The man sitting on her stood and turned to Oz. He punched Oz in the solarplexus and Oz fell backward. When he landed, he received a kick to the head and fell unconscious. Buffy shoved the second man away from her and surged to her feet, then swayed a bit with the motion. "What the…" she muttered. Shaking her head, she punched the man in the stomach and he flew backwards with a surprised grunt. As she turned to attack the other one, she stumbled backwards into Willow's bed.

"What the hell did you give me!" she demanded angrily, shocked to hear her slurred words.

"Buffy!" Willow cried out, trying to rise from her bed but failing. Buffy didn't have time to turn and reassure her friend, however, and at this point any reassurance might prove to be a lie. The two men grabbed her by her arms and began to drag her from the room. She struggled against them, but found most of her strength had disappeared.

"No!" she yelled, looking for help only to see both Xander and Oz out cold on the floor.

"Buffy!" Willow screamed again, and then she began to chant a spell.

"Will! Don't!" Buffy cried out. Magic would be too dangerous on so many levels right then. And with that realization, Buffy finally began to panic. She struggled against her captors, clawing and biting at their hands and arms, but nothing worked.

The two men dragged her out down the hall kicking and screaming. "No!" she shrieked. "No!"

To nurses and orderlies reacting to her cries, the men replied that they had a court order to detain her, and explained that she was mentally disturbed.

"Someone!" she cried out desperately, "Anyone! Help me!" And finally, though she new he was in surgery, possibly dying, and could not come to her rescue, she screeched: "Giles! Giles! Giles!" again and again as the two men hauled her out of the hospital and into an ambulance. As they strapped her to a gurney, the sedative did its job, and she slipped out of consciousness.

* * *

_"Rupert, buddy… I'm here to tell you, I'm impressed." Angel cleans Giles' glasses slowly. "Hey, uh…" He slides Giles' glasses back on his nose. "How you holding up?"_

_Giles looks up at him wearily, pain evident in his eyes. "Never… better…" Defiant to the last._

_"Glad to hear it,"Angel says as he kneels beside Giles. "Now… tell me when it hurts."_

_Then came the blinding pain._

Giles woke with a violent start, sweating profusely, his heart racing, his entire body screaming with pain. Immediately, a cool, soft hand rested on his forehead and he forced himself to relax, whispering: "Buffy?"

"No, Giles. It's me…" said Willow's voice. He nodded silently, and she added, "uh… It's Willow."

He opened one eye to look at her with a shadow of his infamous sardonic glare. "Yes, I could tell by your voice when you spoke. No need to clarify." She gave him a small, watery smile.

"How're you feeling?" she asked him softly.

"Oh bloody marvelous," he said dryly, "like I've been pummeled by a steamroller and then put through a blunder."

Willow winced, "that good, huh?"

He glanced at her and a realization dawned on him. "Wait. What are you doing out of bed? Xander told me you were hospitalized when he brought me in."

"I asked a nurse to wheel me into your room," she replied, indicating the wheelchair she occupied.

"Where are the others?"  
"I sent Xander home to get some sleep. He hadn't had any in quite awhile. And Oz offered to go by your place and bring you a couple things – clothes, your spare glasses, a couple books to read, that kind of thing. You know, 'cause Oz is so thoughtful that way. And I thought it'd be a good idea 'cause… 'cause you'd get bored, and a bored Giles is a cranky Giles, and…"

Giles put his hand up and Willow's mouth snapped shut mid-rant. "Willow…" he said quietly. "What's wrong? What's happened? You're rambling and that is never a good sign."

"There's nothing wrong!" she squeaked. "I'm just happy you're okay, which is translating into hyperness, which transformed into rambling… and…"

"Willow…" Giles said sternly.

"What?" she said, still squeaking.

"You're a horrible liar and you know it."

"I… I don't know what you're talking about. Why would I lie? There's nothing going on. It's not like I'm hiding something to spare you or anything crazy like that…" she said, then winced.

Giles paled. "Willow…" he whispered, his voice beginning to tremble as a thought occurred to him. "Where's Buffy?" Willow froze and didn't speak and Giles felt his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach. Oh God, no… "Willow! Where's Buffy!" he asked, his voice urgent and bordering on panicked.

"I… uh… that is…" Willow stuttered with a pained expression.

Giles shoved himself off his pillow and tried to surge into a sitting position. "My God! Willow, please! Tell me! Oh God, tell me she's alive! Please!" Giles half-sobbed, half-bellowed, his tone and expression furious, panicked and anguished.

"She's alive, Giles. I swear!" Willow exclaimed, trying to surge to her feet in order to calm him down. When she couldn't manage that, she put a hand on his chest and said pleadingly, "Calm down. Please Giles, you'll hurt yourself."

With a deep breath and shudder of pain, Giles eased back against his pillows and said softly: "Willow… tell me where she is. What's happened? Please…" he whispered pleadingly. "Don't torture me like this."

Willow winced at his word choice, took a deep breath, and said softly, "Giles, you have to stay calm or you're going to hurt yourself. Buffy's not hurt. Not physically anyway. She managed to get out of the mansion relatively unharmed. But…"

"But? What, Willow, what!"

"Her mother's had her committed."

"WHAT!"

"She… These two men came here while we were waiting for news about you. They pretty much tackled her and sedated her enough to weaken her, and dragged her off kicking and screaming." Willow's eyes filled with tears. "We tried to stop them. I was going to try a spell but she told me not to. I… I think she was afraid I'd hurt myself." She sniffed sadly.

"Dear Lord," Giles whispered.

"She sounded so scared. I've never heard her so scared, Giles. I could hear her screaming your name all the way down the hall and out the front doors. It was horrible."

Giles went rigid. "Dear Lord, I heard her," he breathed.

"What? How?"

"It was just as the anesthetic was wearing off. I heard her screaming my name. I just thought I was dreaming, but I think I actually heard her."

"If it was about two hours ago, then yes, you probably did," Willow replied softly.

With that, Giles slowly swung his legs off the edge of the bed and set his bare feet carefully on the floor. "Giles!" Willow exclaimed, outraged. "What the _heck_ do you think you're doing! Get back in that bed!"

Giles shook his head. "I'm not leaving Buffy in some insane asylum. I'm checking myself out and then I'm getting her out of there." He very slowly shifted his weight on to his feet. He wobbled a bit, and his entire torso flamed with pain. He couldn't use his left hand to balance because of the broken fingers. But he did manage to stand. That was something.

"Giles, lay back down this instant!" Willow demanded from her wheelchair. "I'm serious!" she shouted. "Resolve fact, Giles. Don't mess with the resolve face." But he silently shook his head and took a shaky step forward, not even bothering to be embarrassed about the open side of his hospital gown in his determination.

As Giles attempted his second step, Oz came in with a bag of Giles' clothes. "Ah, good," Giles said in a calm, business-like manner. "You brought my clothes. Thank you." He held a hand out to Oz and waited.

Oz made no move to hand the clothes over, instead turning to a distraught Willow and saying: "I take it you told him about Buffy…" Willow nodded sadly.

"Oz," Giles said firmly, despite the fact that his balance was quickly wavering. "Please give me my clothes."

"Sorry," Oz said softly, "I can't do that. Now lie back down."

"No. Buffy…"

"—needs our help. But you won't help her if you rip your stitches out or get yourself killed. You need to heal, while we try to talk to Buffy's mom."

"I'll talk to her myself," Giles insisted. Then he tried to take another step and his knees buckled beneath him. Oz caught him just as he was about to crash into the side table and helped him sit down on the edge of the bed. Giles gave him a grateful look, then sighed. Slowly, painstakingly, he slid himself back beneath the sheets. "Alright. I'll stay in bed. Please bring Mrs. Summers here. I need to talk to her."

Oz nodded. And Willow added, "but only if you rest when I tell you to and eat something while Oz gets Mrs. Summers."

"And, actually, its only six in the morning," Oz said, "So we might want to wait a few hours before we drag Mrs. Summers in here."

"Fine," Giles said snapped, irritated. "Just get Buffy's mother here. _Soon_. We need to talk some sense into the woman."

* * *

After a bit of debating, Giles decided to send Xander to retrieve Joyce Summers. She'd always liked Xander best out of all Buffy's friends, and he could pull off the "sincere, pleading, yet determined" act admirably. If Mrs. Summers listened to anybody, which was unfortunately rather unlikely at this juncture, it would be the indomitable and endearing Xander Harris. And so, after allowing him a few more hours sleep, Xander was sent at nine o'clock that morning. 

He walked up to the Summers' home on Revello Drive, filled with trepidation and fury, and knocked on the door. Within seconds the door swung open to reveal a much bedraggled, and, if Xander knew the signs at all (which he did), a somewhat hung-over Joyce Summers.

"I shoulda know they'd send you…" Joyce said, her voice hoarse and bitter. "They knew I wouldn't just slam the door in your face," she added. With that, she pushed the door open more and backed up, a silent invitation for him to enter. He did, and walked immediately into the living room to sit on the sofa, leaving Joyce to follow him. Despite the fact that he was in her house, Xander was determined to be the one in control of this conversation.

Silently, Joyce sat in the chair opposite him. And he said softly: "she's not crazy." She simply arched an eyebrow at him, a silent challenge to prove it. "She's not," he insisted. "Everything she told you was true. Everything."

"Even that she was a drummer in a rock band?" Joyce asked sarcastically.

Xander blinked. "Um… except that…" Joyce nodded, as if this statement alone proved beyond a doubt that Buffy was, in fact, quite insane. But Xander quickly added, "that was probably just one of her rambling attempts to hide the real truth from you. But, Mrs. Summers… When she told you she was a vampire slayer and she had to go save the world… That was the truth."

Joyce smirked and shook her head. He stared at her and demanded, "how can you have so little faith in your own daughter?"

"Because she's delusional!" Joyce cried out.

"No, she's not!"

"Yes, she is! You cannot keep playing to her delusions. I don't know why you do it, but it's not healthy for you or for her. She's sick and she needs helps and I intend to make sure she gets it."

"Mrs. Summers! She's not sick! You can't leave her in some nut house!"

'Stop it!" Joyce snapped. "It isn't fair! You cannot put this on me! You cannot lay this on me and expect me to believe it! Maybe you think she'll get better on her own. Maybe you're crazy enough to actually _believe_ her. I don't care. She's staying in that hospital. She has to get better. She _has_ to."

Xander sighed. This wasn't working. Maybe Giles would be able to talk some sense into her. "Fine," he said angrily. "Don't listen to me. But maybe you'll take another adult more seriously. Giles wants to see you. Will you come to the hospital with me?"

"Wait… You're telling me Mr. Giles is going to try to convince me Buffy's telling the truth?" Joyce exclaimed. Xander nodded. "Mr. Giles? The librarian? He knows about all this! He knew and he didn't tell me! Or get her help! How dare he! Yeah, I'll come. I have a few things I need to say to that man, hospital or not!"

Xander winced. That wasn't exactly how he had seen that going. But at least she was going to talk to Giles. Or scream at him, rather. He shrugged. At this point all he could do was cross his fingers and pray.

* * *

"You!" Joyce hissed as she stormed into Giles' hospital room, followed quickly by a rather frightened Xander. Startled out his light, half-aware sleep, Giles shot into a sitting position in his bed and blindly reached for his glasses on the side table as he stared at Buffy's mother. "You knew!" Joyce exclaimed. "You knew Buffy was having these delusions and you never said a thing!" 

"Mrs. Summers, please calm yourself…" Giles began.  
Then he winced as Joyce shouted: "don't you patronize me! Don't you _dare_ patronize me! She's _my_ daughter!"

"Mrs. Summers…"

"Don't 'Mrs. Summers' me. Admit it. You knew about all this."

Giles sighed. "Yes, I knew. But I also know that they are not delusions. Buffy's not crazy."

"Don't give me that!" Joyce bellowed, and Giles suddenly knew precisely where Buffy got her temper. "How can you say that?" she demanded. "Do you have any idea exactly what she told me earlier tonight? Do you have any idea what she expected me to believe?"

"Mrs. Summers…"

"At first I thought she must be lying, like she has been for the last two and half years… about everything. Just like when she told me she was in a rock band earlier this evening, trying to justify wandering around with that punk... that Spike guy…"

"Spike!" Giles gasped, alarmed.

Joyce didn't even hear him and kept on talking. "But then I realized she honestly believed everything she was saying. I could see it in her face!" She paused and stared at Giles, her eyes intense and haunted. "Do you have any idea how terrifying, how heart-breaking it is to hear your own child say all those crazy things, and realize she's gone insane? Do you have _any_ _idea_!"

"No, I don't. And neither do you, because Buffy has not gone insane."

Joyce ignored him again. "My daughter is sick. And I have to help her in any way I can. And if that means having her institutionalized, then so be it. I'll do whatever it takes."

"How about you try believing her," Xander said furiously from behind Joyce. "I bet that would go a long way toward helping her."

Giles shook his head and said softly, "Xander…" Then he looked to Joyce again and said firmly: "Buffy's not sick."

"Yes, she is!"

Giles took a deep breath, glanced at Xander who simply shrugged, and steeled himself from pandemonium. "Mrs. Summers… Joyce…" he said softly. "You daughter is not crazy. She's not delusional. She wasn't lying to you. And she wasn't making it up. She was telling you the truth, just as I am now." She stared at him and did not speak. "Buffy is a vampire slayer. _The_ Vampire Slayer. Into each generation a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world. A Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires, to stop the spread of their evil…"

"Giles…" Xander moaned.

Giles glanced at him and winced as he gave the boy a small shrug. "Sorry," he said softly, "force of habit."

"My God…" Joyce whispered, looking at Giles as if he had grown three heads.

"Joyce. Your daughter is special. She kills vampires and demons, protects innocents from harm. She has saved the world several times over. And once… she even died in the attempt…" he whispered.

"Yeah!" Xander, said, piping in. "And I did CPR and brought her back to life."

"I know all this because I am her Watcher," Giles said, both ignoring Xander. "I train her, protect her, guide her. Now I need you to believe in her. If you give us some time, we can show you we're telling the truth. But you have to be open to the possibilities. You have to give us a chance. You have to trust your daughter."

Joyce paled and for a long, silent moment, Giles thought perhaps that it was finally sinking in. And then she whispered, and her voice was filled with contempt and rage. "It was you…"

"What?"

"It was you. You put all this in her head, didn't you? You told her all these things and somehow convinced her they were true. It was you!"

"Mrs. Summers…"

"Your drove my daughter insane!" Joyce wailed. She walked toward him until she was right beside him, looking down on him. "You bastard! I trusted you. I thought you were helping her in school, guiding her, encouraging her…"

"I was…" he whispered.

"But it was you all along! You were the one changing her. I could never understand why everything she said was filled with Giles-this, and Giles-that… But it was you feeding the delusions, you supplying them. You took her away from me!"

She lunged forward.


	3. The Beast That Dwells Within Me

**Author's Note: **As promised, here is chapter two. I rather like this chapter. It came out pretty fast. Especially for me. Unfortunately, chapter three isn't cooperating as much. Sadness… Oh well. I'm working on it, but I don't have a clue when it'll be out. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Go read.

Oh! Allen Pitt had a couple very good questions and comments. I don't really address them in this chapter. I had most of it written already, anyway, and I have a pretty good idea of exactly where I'm going with this. But I'm pretty sure I will eventually address them, so don't despair.

* * *

**Let the Tortured Body Cease**

Chapter Two: The Beast That Dwells Within Me

_When all my mutinous body rose  
__To range itself against my foes,  
__And, like a greyhound in the slips,  
__The Beast that dwells within me roared,  
__Lunging and straining at his cord…  
__For all the blusterings of Hell,  
__It was not then I slipped and fell_

-- From _The Breaking Point_, Stephen Vincent Benet

* * *

She lunged forward. Giles was not entirely certain what her intent was. Slap him. Punch him. Strangle him. He could not be sure, but he knew it would be unpleasant. Thankfully, he didn't have to find out, for Xander quickly caught her by the shoulders and held her. "Bastard!" she screamed. 

Reacting to the shouting, two nurses came in, and looked at the scene before them. "Ma'am, this is a hospital!" said one nurse, shocked and incensed.

"Good!" Joyce shouted, "he's gonna need another surgeon when I'm done with him!" She strained against Xander's hold while Giles simply watched her, not looking shocked, afraid, or even defiant. Simply resigned.

"Ma'am!" the second nurse called out firmly, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Ignoring the nurses, Joyce continued to fight against Xander's grip on her shoulders and hissed, her voice seething with malevolence: "I ought to kill you, you son of a bitch."

"Ma'am!" the first nurse exclaimed. "Mr. Giles just got out of major surgery about five hours ago! He needs rest. How dare you come in here and threaten him. Please leave!"

"No!"

Finally, the first nurse came forward to help Xander hold her, and the two of them together managed to pull her toward the door. All the while, she was pulling against them and screeching at Giles. "You took her away from me! You stole her! You destroyed her! I'll never forgive you!" With that, the door closed behind her, Xander, and the nurse. Giles listened to her screams disappear as the two dragged her away.

The second nurse stayed behind to see to Giles. She came beside his bed and bade him gently to lie back down. Sighing sadly and wincing, Giles did as he was told. The nurse pulled the glasses from his face and set them down on the side table, then she checked his heart rate and blood pressure.

"What was all that about exactly?" the nursed asked gently, concerned.

"Original Sin…" Giles whispered in response, shocked by his own revelation.

"What?"

"I'm the serpent…"

"Um… Okay?"

Giles shook his head at her confused expression and told her: "never mind. It's nothing. Don't worry about it." But in his mind, he felt the epiphany strengthen and take hold of him.

He was the snake who bade Eve eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Unbidden, the memory of Buffy's first day at Sunnydale High School came to his mind. The thunderous pounding when he slammed that book on the counter top. Vampyr. Buffy: small, pretty, defensive. The fear in her eyes. And he realized with grief and utter self-contempt that he was far worse than the devil of the Book of Genesis. He did not simply tell her to eat the fruit. He grappled with her and shoved it down her throat.

* * *

Buffy's eyes shot open and found themselves staring up into a blank white ceiling, painted in stretched out rectangles of bright late morning sunlight and criss-crossed with the thin dark shadows of bars. She could tell, simply because she was the Slayer, that it was around eleven o'clock in the morning. It had been a little before four in the morning when those two men had appeared to take her away. She'd been asleep for about seven hours. 

It was a long time to be out of contact with the world when you had no idea what the hell was going to happen next. It scared her. Were Xander and Oz alright after that fight? Did Willow try any dangerous magic in her fragile condition? And what about Giles? Had his surgery gone alright? Was he awake? Was he okay? Was he going to come save her?

She took a deep breath and slowly sat up, looking around. The room was small, white, sterile. There was the bed she lay on, shoved into the corner, with a small side table beside it. Across from the bed was a dresser, pushed against the other wall. There was a small chair pushed into the opposite corner. The wall behind her head had one window, from which the sunlight poured in, and the large metal door was set in the opposite wall. "Real homey…" she muttered. Glancing down at her feet, she saw that she was still dressed in the overalls and tennis shoes she'd worn when she'd planned to run away. That thought seemed so long ago. But now, it was beginning to sound like it might have been the better choice.

Suddenly, there was a quiet knock on the metal door, then the sounds of a lock clicking open. A man in a blue shirt and tie, with a white coat draped over his thin shoulders, walked into the little room, followed by two large orderlies. "Ah. Good." The tall, thin man said. "You're awake." He slid the chair closer to her bed and sat down. The two orderlies stood near the door with their arms crossed and watched.

"I'm Doctor Robert Matheson," the man said. Buffy looked at him blandly and did not speak. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

Buffy arched an eyebrow at him. She'd been drugged. Had she had any choice than to sleep deeply?

He nodded. "Alright. Redundant question. Would you mind if I ask you a few questions this morning? And then I'll get you something to eat."

"Ask away. Doesn't guarantee I'll answer," Buffy replied, voice dry with sarcasm.

"Fair enough. Do you know why you're here?"

Bitterly, Buffy replied: "my mother suddenly decided to turn into a bitch." She knew that wasn't a fair statement, but at the moment, she was too pissed to care.

"Your mother loves you, and she's worried about you," the doctor said gently. "She wants you to get help. Do you know why she would think you need help?"

Buffy glared at him and didn't dignify that with a response.

"Your mother gave me a rough idea of what's been going on in your life, but she seemed to have quite a few holes. She was very sad that she didn't know you as well as she'd like. But she says you've become delusional." He waited, as if expecting a violent reaction, but Buffy just looked at him. She thought it might be a combination of things – exhaustions, shock, fear, anger, grief – but she felt numb, unable and unwilling to even attempt a response.

"Would you like to tell me your side of the story?" Dr. Matheson asked, trying to prompt her. "Maybe we could clear some things up."

She stared at him.

"Miss Summers. I think it would help a lot if you could tell me what you told your mother. Maybe elaborate… explain it to me so I can understand."

She looked at him coolly and said, "no."

"Look, Buffy… May I call you Buffy?"

"No."

"Uh, alright… Miss Summers, then. Things will be much easier later on if you cooperate now." Buffy shrugged. "So, why don't you tell me… Are you a vampire slayer? Yes or no."

"No, I'm the tooth fairy," Buffy said acerbically. "Can't you see the wings?" The doctor smiled slightly, and she noted with some amusement, that at the very least, he found her funny. She grinned at him and she could tell he was surprised by that. "Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor. But I'm not insane, and I don't plan on saying something that will make you think I am. Now. I think I'm done answering your questions."

Dr. Matheson sighed and stood up. "Alright. We'll stop for now," he said. "Get some rest. I'll have one of the orderlies bring you something for breakfast. Or lunch, rather, I suppose."

The two orderlies that had watched the conversation with guarded expressions, opened the large metal door again and moved out into the hallway. They were followed quickly by Dr. Matheson, who nodded to Buffy congenially. "I have to lock the door, is the institution's policy," he told her. "I just wanted to tell you so you don't take it personally." Buffy smirked at him. "Well, I will talk to you later." With that, the door was slammed shut and she listened to the lock click into place. And she was alone again.

With a sigh, Buffy decided to take the doctor's advice to rest, though not for any reasons he would approve of. She'd try to sleep off that drug they'd given her. She'd eat whatever food they brought her. And then, tonight, when she could be reasonably sure that things were quiet and deserted, she'd make her escape. Once the drug was completely out of her system, she imagined she'd probably be strong enough to either kick down that metal door, or pull the metal screen out of the window frame.

* * *

By the end of the day, Giles had grown painfully disgusted with the hospital and its staff. The nurses, though they were compassionate and concerned, were so saccharin sweet and over-solicitous as to completely irritate him. The doctors were all pompous assholes who probably couldn't have given him straight answers had their lived depended upon it. And the food was horrible. Having concluded that enough was most definitely enough, Giles signed himself out against medical advice and had Oz drive him home at around seven o'clock that night. 

Oz and Xander helped him into his apartment. "Come on, G-Man," Xander said encouragingly as Giles stumbled along, wincing and cursing under his breath.

He glared at Xander, whose arms were practically the only things holding him up, and said, "Don't call me that," but his voice lacked its usual force, and Xander didn't even have the heart to smile. Between the two of them, Xander and Oz managed to get Giles up the stairs to his bedroom, took off his shoes, and slid him into bed.

"Would you like something to eat?" Xander asked.

Giles paused, considering, and then nodded. "Just something simple, please, Xander. I think there's some cans of soup in my pantry."

"Alrighty, G-Man. I'll be back in a minute." And Xander rushed out of the room.

When Xander had disappeared down the stairs, Giles looked at Oz, his face solemn. "Oz," he said softly, and the boy heard something in his tone make him give Giles his full attention. "There's a bottle of brandy in a cabinet in living room. Would you bring that and a glass, please? Without letting Xander see you?"

Oz gave him a mildly confused look.

Giles looked down at his hands. "Xander's parents… He has enough exposure to alcohol. I'd rather he didn't see me drinking too."

Oz nodded sagely and said: "Alright." Then he raced down the stairs and back up within thirty seconds. "He thinks I was grabbing a book for you…" Oz said. He handed Giles a book with a small smile. Then he placed the rather large decanter half full of brandy and a glass on the bedside table.

"Thank you, Oz," Giles said quietly.

Just then, Giles heard Xander climbing the stairs, the clinking of dishes and silverware preceding him up the steps. Quickly, Giles leaned over, slid the bottle and the glass into a cabinet at the bottom of his side table, and sat back up.

"Here ya go, Giles," Xander said cheerfully. He carried a tray into the room with a bowl of steaming soup, a little plate of crackers, and a cup of steaming tea on it. Carefully, he placed the tray on Giles' lap.

"Thank you very much, Xander," Giles said. "You didn't need to go to so much trouble, but it was very thoughtful, and I appreciate it."

Xander looked down at his feet, embarrassed, and shrugged. "I didn't do anything. I just put a can of soup on the stove for a couple minutes. Nothing to it."

"Well, I appreciate it anyway," Giles said.

Xander shrugged again.

Giles paused, that said, "Xander, I have a question I'm hoping you'll be able to answer."

"What?" he asked.

"This morning… Joyce said something about Buffy wandering around with Spike. Do you have any idea what she meant? Do you know what Buffy might have been doing with Spike?"

Xander's eyes widened. "I don't know, but Buffy mentioned something about Spike too. When she came running into the hospital to find out how you were, she was muttering something about Spike swearing to do something. And that if you died, she'd destroy him. I don't really understand what she meant."

"I wish I knew what Buffy did. And what Spike had to do with it…" he sighed, worried. "But I supposed I'll have to go without knowing until I can ask her myself."

Xander and Oz nodded and Giles took a sip of his hot tea.

"Well," Oz said finally, "I suppose we should go and let you get some rest…"

"Um… yeah… I guess we should…" Xander stuttered but Giles could tell that Xander really didn't want to.

"You don't have to leave just yet, if you'd like to stay," Giles offered, though he'd have to admit that he'd prefer to pour himself a brandy and go to sleep.

"Uh…" Xander paused. "No. No, that's alright. You need your rest. We'll go."

Oz gave Giles a significant look, asked him if he'd be alright, and when Giles nodded and thanked him, he walked downstairs. But Xander hovered by the bed and fidgeted, and looked uncertain.

"I'm quite alright, you know, Xander," Giles said gently, smiling.

"I know… I'm just…"

"Worried?"

Xander sighed. "Yeah. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about Willow. And I'm really worried about Buffy…"

Giles nodded. "So am I, Xander, so am I. But I promise you, I won't let her mother keep her in that place. I'll get her out. I promise you."

Xander grinned. "I know you won't, Giles. We've never doubted that. We all know you'll protect Buffy."

Giles smiled back and nodded again. "Just so. No go ahead and get some rest yourself. And if you stop by the hospital to see Willow, give her my best, alright?"

"Will do. Get some rest, G-Man. See ya."

And, feeling a little better, Xander followed Oz down the stairs and out the front door. Finally alone, Giles reached down the side table for his brandy and his glass. Leaning back against his pillows, he poured a large brandy and drank it slowly. He let out a deep breath and tried not to think. Too much had happened. Too much had gone wrong. He couldn't quite get his head around it all. And above it all, Buffy was stuck in some god-awful mental asylum… He was not going to let that stand.

By his third glass of brandy, Giles was passed drowsy. His eyes were heavy and his throat was dry. He just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything. But a part of him was afraid to close his eyes. A part of him kept thinking he had to stay awake to wait for Buffy's check-in call after patrol. He had to keep reminding himself that she wasn't on patrol, and she wasn't going to be calling him. With a sigh, he took one last large gulp of his drink, set the glass down, and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.

* * *

When it was a little past midnight, Buffy climbed out of the small white bed and stretched her sore muscles. She had no clock, but she knew what time it was anyway – a benefit of being the Slayer, she supposed. Everything was completely still and silent. First, she slid her shoes off to further remove any noise when she walked. Then she walked to the window and looked out. She was on the third floor of the building, and even she could not jump that far and not hurt herself – possibly even kill herself. So she turned and padded softly to the door. 

For a moment she simply considered the door. She glanced at the hinges and the handle. She tapped it once softly. Then she took a deep breath, grasped the handle roughly, and twisted hard. Just as she had hoped, she heard the lock snap, and the door popped open. She waited a few seconds before she opened the door, pausing to see if anyone was going to react to the soft popping noise of the broken lock. When no one came running, she pulled the door open and slid out, closing the door behind her. Like a shadow in the darkness, she slid along the hallway, looking for stairwell.

At the far end of the corridor, she found one. Silently, she made her way down to the first level of the building. And she honestly thought she was going to escape without a hitch until she actually reached the first level and found herself face to face with two very large orderlies and a security officer. "Crap!" she hissed.

"Break out!" the first orderly yelled. He was tall and bulky and his nametag read: Mitch. He tried to coral Buffy back toward the stairs and said in what she supposed he thought was a soothing tone, "Now, now… Why don't we get you back into bed where you belong."

Buffy smirked at him. "I don't think so." She launched herself backwards into the stair well and onto the fourth step up. From there she leapt into a flip over the Mitch's head. The second orderly, a shorter, fat man whose nametag labeled him: Frank, tried to grab her by the shoulders as she landed. But she quickly jabbed him in his paunchy stomach and pushed away with her feet. The security guard, in the mean time, was calling for back up.

"You ain't getting away that easy!" Frank shouted. "Get back here!" He lunged for her, and though she easily sidestepped him, she'd forgotten about Mitch. The taller orderly managed to twist her arms behind her back and pin her against a wall.

"Got you," Mitch taunted.

"You are so going to regret this!" Buffy hissed at the man. Pushing against the orderly, she managed to make enough space between her body and the wall to wedge her legs between them and shove. With tremendous force to shoved Mitch backward and flipped up and over him. When she landed behind him, she punched him hard in the kidney, and then kicked him in the neck. The tall man collapsed and Buffy stood over him, one hand on her hip, and the expression on her face more than a little smug.

"Now… how precisely do you have me?" she asked. "You gonna bite my feet off at my ankles?"

Then, she no longer had time to taunt the fallen orderly, for Frank had barreled into her. She tumbled forward and rolled back onto her feet. Crouching on the balls of her feet, with the fingertips of one hand braced on the floor, she looked up at the short, wide man. The orderly looked back at her and took a step forward.

"Give this up, Girlie," Frank said. "You aren't getting out of here. Period. Soon, back up is gonna get here. Now, why don't you come along quietly back to your room. Before I have to hurt you."

Buffy took that at her permission to attack, and launched herself forward from the balls of her feet. Her fist collided with a satisfying crack into Frank's nose and the large man fell backwards and rolled a little like a ball. Smirking, Buffy stepped forward and placed her feet on the man's fat neck.

"How was that again? _You_ are going to hurt _me_? I don't think so." She pushed down with her foot just little, not caring that it was perhaps a little vicious, and stepped back. "Oh," she added blithely. "And don't call me Girlie."

The security guard stepped forward then, shaking visibly, but raising his gun defiantly. "Stop right there," he said, his voice wavering and filled with fear. Buffy looked at him blandly and stepped toward him. He was guarding the only exit, as far as she could tell. "Don't take another step!" he shouted. She ignored him and stepped up to him, until she was only three feet away. "Stop!" he screamed, waving his gun at her.

She glanced down at the pistol then back up to his face. "You gonna shoot me?" she inquired blandly. She didn't feel the slightest bit of fear in the face of that gun. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't even nervous. All she was, was really really pissed off. Growling, she lifted her leg into a long, sweeping, arc of a kick, and knocked the gun out of the guard's hand. It went flying off into the shadows and she watched it land before she turned back to the man. The security guard looked at her with abject fear in his eyes, and she paused only a millisecond before she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and lifted the taller man off the ground by a couple inches.

"I ask again," she growled. "You gonna shoot me?" He shook his head. And she tossed him away. "I didn't think so," she said dismissively, visibly disgusted with the man.

Her path now clear, she took two steps toward the door, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck. "Shit…" she muttered as she whipped a hand back and yanked a tranquilizer dart out of her skin. She stared at it with contempt and kept walking forward. Behind her, she could hear more men running to catch her. Dr. Matheson telling them that the tranquilizer should come into affect any moment. A couple nurses trying to wake up the orderlies. Then, just as she reached the door and grasped the handle, her legs stopped working.

"No…" she whispered as she fell to her knees. "No," again, as she felt herself fall backward onto her back, her legs bent awkwardly beneath her, and her eyes slide closed.

Footsteps came up to her, and she heard Dr. Matheson say: "don't worry. She won't be a danger anymore. That tranq's strong enough to knock out a lion. Take her back to her room and strap her to the bed. We cannot allow her to escape again."

Buffy felt several hands shift her body and pick her up before she fell unconscious.

* * *

Buffy awoke with a muffled sob, sweating and struggling against the leather straps she suddenly found were binding her to the bed. For a long, stretched out moment she could not even register that there were leather straps actually tying her down. All she could feel was pain and terror. Pounding, screaming pain. Her foggy brain screeching furiously at its mistreatment. Whatever that tranquilizer had been, it had really done a number on her system. Blood pounded in her ears. Her drug-induced nightmares were still fresh and raw in her memory… but she didn't want to think about that. That way led to the terror, which was worse than the pain. 

She imagined this was what a hangover probably felt like. And if that was true, she wondered how Giles could ever drink. Ever.

Trying desperately not to think about her dreams, she decided to get out of the straps. For a moment, she simply stared at the offending articles. Then she sighed, shook her head, and yanked against the straps. She was the Slayer, for Chrissakes. She yanked handles off doors; she'd been known to break metal cuffs on occasion; leathers straps weren't going to cause her too much trouble.

Unfortunately, she had to revise this statement when she found she could not even stretch the straps to any degree. The silly little straps should have snapped against her force, but there they were, not even stretched out of shape, and here she was with sore muscles. "What the hell," she muttered. Annoyed and offended by the things, she growled low in her throat, gritted her teeth, gathered all her strength, and pulled at the straps with all her might. Nothing happened.

"This is not good…" she breathed, beginning to feel a touch of panic. She yanked and strained and fought with the leather, and no matter what she did, she could not make them stretch or tear. Nothing she did mattered at all, and by the time she had given up struggling, she was panting and sweating with exhaustion.

Lying there with her ragged breath pressing against her ribs and the back of her throat, with nothing to do except think, her nightmares came back to her. And this time she had no physical struggle to help her hide from them. They haunted her. Angelus' demonic face staring down at her with a mimicry of love in his eyes. Smiling at her, a toothy malicious grin. Kissing her with a passion that was more violence and hate than tenderness and love. That same grinning face standing over a body. Giles. Bleeding. Broken. Dead.

Buffy shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts from her brain. So close. She had come so close to losing him. Her teacher. Her protector. Her best friend. Even knowing it had not been Angel, but Angelus, who had tortured her Watcher, still she could never forgive him.

Spurred by the thought of Giles, she struggled furiously against the leather straps again. But it only lasted a few minutes before she was forced to give up again. But she had to get out of here. She had to make sure Giles was alright. She had no idea if he'd even survived his surgery. And even if he was alive, he might be in pain. And what if he blamed her? What if he thought she should have gotten him out sooner? She had to see him. She had to see Giles. And, suddenly furious beyond measure with the offensive binds, almost her entire body rose off the bed, straining against the straps, as she roared like a beast at the top of her lungs.

Within seconds an orderly and Dr. Matheson had come running in, to find Buffy thrashing on her bed and screaming like a wild animal. "Let me go!" she bellowed. "Right now!"

"Miss Summers…" Matheson said cajolingly.

"Untie me now!" she ordered. "Or I swear to God, I'll get out myself and when I do I'll snap your head off your neck like a toothpick and kick it across town!"

"Now, Miss Summers… no reason to become abusive or violent. You can hardly blame for putting you in restraints when you put two of the orderlies in the hospital and scared the wits out of one of my security guards."

"Oh, that's nothing to what I'm going to do to you if you don't let me out of here," Buffy growled threateningly.

"And that's supposed to inspire me to let you go?" he inquired incredulously.

"I don't give a damn what inspires you to do it! Just do it!" she shouted furiously, and once again yanked ferociously against her bonds. For a few silent seconds he watched her struggle. Then, exhausted, sweating, and gasping again, she stopped struggling and laid on her bad, energy spent.

Seemingly convinced that she had either calmed down or exhausted herself sufficiently, Matheson came forward and untied her wrists. Immediately, she shot up and untied her ankles herself, while the large orderly at the door watched her warily.

"What the hell did you do to me?" she asked weakly.

"I gave you a sedative that should have kept you asleep for a day, not just ten hours. It seems, however, that with that and a combination of muscle relaxants, that I can retard your rather extraordinary strength."

"What!" she hissed, shocked and disbelieving.

"Yes. And if you persist in this struggling too long, you will only succeed in injuring yourself," Matheson said.

"Go to hell," Buffy rasped, her throat raw from her screeching.

"Ah, I mustn't do that. Then who would be able to help you destroy these delusions?"

"I am _not_ delusional," Buffy snapped.

"So, then you are truly this vampire slayer you told your mother about?" he asked. She glared at him and did not answer. She was not stupid enough to dig her own grave. That much she knew for certain.

"Why do you want out of here?" the doctor asked suddenly. "Don't you want help?"

"I don't _need_ help. I need to see Giles." She winced. Why had she said that out loud.

"Giles? Mr. Giles? Your school librarian?" Matheson asked. "Ah, yes. Your mother told me you were friends. Isn't it a little unusual for a 17 year old girl to be friends with a single, middle-aged man?"

"No," she said petulantly, irrationally annoyed by his reference to Giles' age, and painfully reminded that he was only single because _her_ lover had killed _his_.

"Why do you need to see Mr. Giles? Does he know about your delusions?"

"I'm not delusional," she said reflexively. "And Giles is hurt."

"Yes, I know he was," Matheson said ominously. And something in the way he said it triggered near-panic in Buffy.

"Was? What do you mean 'was'?" she questioned, her voice cracking slightly.

Matheson shook his head. "Did I say 'was'? I meant is."

"No. No. You said 'was.' What did you mean by that? What have you heard about Giles?"

Again Matheson shook his head. "I didn't mean anything by it. I haven't heard a thing about him. I am much too busy here to worry about high school librarians that get beat up by hoodlums."

"He didn't get beat up by hoodlums," Buffy whispered, mostly to herself.

"No? Then what? Was he attacked by vampires, Miss Summers? Why don't you tell me about it, hmmm….?" Again she simply glared at him and refused to answer him. "Why don't you answer me, Miss Summers? Are you a vampire slayer? Yes or no. Answer me."

"If I say yes, you'll say I'm delusional. If I say no, you'll say I'm lying to hide my delusions. It's a catch-22. So I think I'll just keep my mouth shut, thank you."

Soon after that, Dr. Matheson gave up his attempted conversation and left. And that's when Buffy learned what the routines of asylums were like. All the patients, or inmates, as Buffy preferred to call them, were taken to a large recreation room on the first floor, where they could read, draw, write, play board games, or watch tv. Certain patients were alternately taken away and then brought back, presumably for one-on-one sessions with Dr. Matheson or one of the other psychiatrists – of which there were four as far as Buffy could tell.

At twelve-thirty exactly, all the inmates were led to a cafeteria to eat lunch. They all sat at long tables with benches like those used in some schools, and ate what was given to them. Some complained about the taste or the lack of variety, but they all ate. A number of them were also given medication at this time, in the form of pills handed to them in little paper cups. The nurses and orderlies stood and watched as each patient swallowed their pulls and checked both cup and mouth to make sure they had done so.

Buffy sat at a table surrounded by bonafide mental cases and ate her thin beef stew and bland mash potatoes without comment. She said little beyond the polite minimum of 'hi,' 'no,' and 'yes' to any attempts the others made at conversation, and silently thanked the Powers That Be that no one tried to hand her a little cup of pills.

After lunch, most of the patients dispersed into their individual categories for group sessions. But, they there were several delusional patients, there was no official group for delusions like there were for suicide attempts and eating disorders. After all, how do you talk someone out of being delusional with group therapy? So, instead, they placed her in with a group of patients with "borderline personality disorder" and "anger management issues." As she sat in her little chair in the little circle, being watched by the group mediator and listening to various patients rant about various things, she began to grin. You want to talk about anger management, she thought derisively, I killed my ex-lover. Her grin widened as she imagined actually saying that.

When the discussion circle came around to her, the mediator looked at her with a pen hanging from his lip and said in a patronizing tone: "You've been smiling for awhile now, Buffy. Why don't you tell us what you're thinking about?" Buffy, startled from her thoughts, looked at him with wide eyes. Then she shrugged and her grin returned. She was stuck in here for the moment anyway, they already thought she was insane. Might as well go all out…

"Oh, I'm just listening to all this piddly shit you guys have been talking about, and it's all extremely amusing. You," she said, waving her hand at a teenage boy near her, "demolished your father's car and beat up a bully in your school. And you…" she added, gesturing to a thirty-something-year-old man across the circle, "abuse your wife and burned down your house…" She looked at them and they bristled at the dismissive tone of her voice. "Oh, don't get me wrong, these are all horrible things, and you probably deserve to be here. But if you really want to talk about anger management issues…"

"Yes?" the mediator prompted when she paused.

"Oh, well… I impaled my ex-lover through the chest with a two thousand year old sword." Her tone was nonchalant and the entire room stared at her in shocked silence. The mediator's mouth hung open and the pen fell onto his lap. Okay, so that wasn't nearly the whole story, Buffy thought, but man, those reactions were so worth it. And she grinned again.

"And… uh… um…" the mediator stuttered. "Do you… uh… Do you regret it? Don't you wish you'd learned to control your temper?"

Deep, deep in her soul, Buffy began to sob with the pain of her grief and regret. But outwardly, she managed to look up at the mediator with unwavering eyes and say: "no, not really." And she thanked the Powers That Be for her skill and practice in lying, because judging from dead fish look the mediator gave her, he had obviously believed every word she said. Hiding her screaming heart from prying eyes, she smiled again, and though the smile did admittedly fall flat of an actual grin, still it seemed to unsettle everyone in the room. And she took an almost sadistic pleasure in that fact.

Early in the evening, as the sun dipped in the sky and darkness descended, visitors came to see their disturbed family and friends. The visits took place in the recreation room, and Buffy was not surprised to see her mother there. Depressed, maybe. Pissed off, maybe. But definitely not surprised. It had been Buffy's first full day in a mental institution, and of course, her mother would come to see how well she had adjusted.

"Hi, Honey," Joyce said softly. She was obviously nervous about her daughter's possible reactions. And rightly so. Buffy was not a happy person. She sat down in the chair opposite her mother when the nurse beside her indicated that she should. Just like a good little crazy person. Buffy gave her mother a cool, even, look and did not speak.

"Um… how're you settling in?" Joyce inquired. "Alright?" Buffy simply looked at her blandly. Joyce swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

"So… uh… the doctor… Dr. Matheson... that is… he says you won't talk to him. You can, you know. He's not here to judge you or condemn you. He's here to help… you… to…" Joyce stumbled and faded into silence under Buffy's implacable gaze. Inwardly, Buffy smiled slightly. She was getting good at this silent treatment business.

"Buffy? Would you please talk to me? I understand why you're made, but this is for your own good. And someday you will come to realize that."

Buffy fought the urge to laugh at the inadequacy of the word 'mad.' Understatement much, she thought derisively. But she didn't say anything. She kept her face neutral.

"Alright," Joyce sighed, as if sensing her thoughts, "so maybe 'mad' isn't a strong enough word. But even if you're livid with me, you could still try talking to me." What Buffy felt was such a jumble of emotions she couldn't even name it. Her mother would never understand that. But most of all, she thought perhaps she was disappointed in her mother and hurt by her utter lack of faith.

"Buffy!" Joyce said sharply, angry, worried, upset. "Please stop with the silent treatment already! Talk to me! I need to understand what happened to you to make you like this!"

Buffy shot out of her seat and stood as straight as she could. Joyce jerked backward reflexively at her sudden movement. Buffy's face was implacable, her spin was rigid, her stance was proud and unforgiving as she gazed down at her mother with silent accusatory eyes. She looked like a marble statue: Nemesis. Righteous Anger. Vengeance. And Joyce looked up at her, suddenly afraid. Deep in her heart, Buffy was just the tiniest bit proud of the fear in her own mother's eyes.

"I'm not lying," Buffy said in a quiet voice, and despite its softness it spoke volumes of anger, grief, reproach, and even a little disgust. "And I'm not crazy. And someday you're going to realize that. The proof is going to smack you in the face… or possibly rip your intestines out," she added with a bitter smirk, and Joyce paled. "And when that happens, if you manage to survive the experience, you will be filled with so much guilt and regret you won't know what to do with yourself…" She paused and a deep sadness filled Buffy's eyes even as her voice turned hard and cold. "And I'm not sure you'll have my forgiveness to help you learn to forgive yourself."

Her small speech done, Buffy spun on her heel and walked away, toward the sofa and the tv. She looked down at an older man sitting nearly catatonic in front of the television, drool sliding down his chin, and her eyes softened. Taking the edge of the bottom hem of her shirt, she wiped the drool away, then sat down beside the man and stared at the screen, Watching the six o'clock news. Joyce stared after her daughter, her expression changing from stunned to grim. Then, with a sad sigh, she stood and walked out of the room.

* * *

At six o'clock in the evening, after having spoken to a receptionist at the Sunnydale Mental Institution for half an hour on the phone, Giles stormed into the building. He had asked the receptionist on the phone for the visiting hours and when she asked for his name, he was actually foolish enough to tell her his real name. As soon as the name passed his lips, he knew it was a bad idea. He was right. 

The receptionists paused, and he heard her whisper to someone, and then she said in an apologetic tone: "Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm not permitted to give you the visit hours. You have been restricted from seeing Buffy Summers." He spent the next half hours arguing with her. But it had done no good. He had been forbidden contact with Buffy by order of her mother and her doctor, one Robert Matheson.

So, incensed, he was now storming through the front doors and into the lobby. And stormed was definitely the right word. Despite his limp, the bandages around his torso catching on his ribs, the fact that he was pulling stitches, the pain flashing through him… despite all that, he swept into that lobby practically glowing with his fury, his gaze dark and intense, his gait long, strong, and determined.

He walked up to the receptionist's desk and slammed the flat of his large hand against the lacquered wood with a tremendous bang. The receptionist jumped two feet off her chair, staring at him with wide, startled eyes.

"I want to see Dr. Robert Matheson," he said, his voice barely on the edge of civility.

"I'm… uh… afraid Dr. Matheson is occupied at the moment," the receptionist said in a shaking voice.

"I don't care. Call him and tell him to get out here _now_. Or I start searching every office in the bloody building."

"But…"

"Now!"

Blanching, the woman picked up her phone, pressed a few buttons, waited, then said: "Sir, there's someone here demanding to see you. A Mister…"

"Giles. Rupert Giles," Giles supplied.

"A Mr. Rupert Giles, sir." And then, registering the name in her brain, the receptionist looked up at him and realized who he was and why he was angry. She paled to a shade so white her skin looked almost blue. "Uh… yessir," she whispered into the phone. She hung up.

"He's on his way…" she told Giles. And Giles nodded, barely but momentarily satisfied.

A moment later, he saw Joyce exit a room down the hall and head in his direction, toward the lobby and the front doors. He saw her grim expression and felt certain she had just seen Buffy. Buffy had to be in that room.

Without a second thought, Giles headed down that hallway, not even caring that he would have to face Joyce Summers in order to reach Buffy. "Sir!" the receptionist called behind him, "stop!" Ahead of him, Joyce had seen him and moved to stand directly in his path.

"You can't see her," she told him harshly. "It's your fault she's here. You'll just make it worse."

"Worse! Worse!" Giles exclaimed. "You have her looked up in a bloody asylum! Your own daughter! I can't see as how it could be any worse!"

"It's for her own good," Joyce insisted.

"The hell it is!" He tried to walk around her, but she just sidestepped and moved in his way again.

"I don't care what you think about it. You are _not_ seeing Buffy!" Joyce yelled.

Just then, a man wearing a nice suit with a white lab coat over it, and a nametag that read: Matheson, come toward them. "Mrs. Summers is correct, Mr. Giles," he said. "Seeing you would only make things more difficult for Buffy. You are an integral part of her delusions, and seeing you now would simply reinforce them."

Giles glared at him and hissed trough clenched teeth: "Buffy is not delusional."

Dr. Matheson's eyebrows flew up into his hairline in an expression of utter surprise. "How can you say that?" he asked, incredulous. "Don't you know her at all?"

"I know her better than any other human being on this planet," he said, his teeth still clenched, and he felt himself fighting a reckless fury rising up within him.

"Then how can you say that? Perhaps you do not realize what she claims to be… Because I cannot comprehend how you could say that someone who claims to be a vampire slayer is _not_ delusional."

"I don't care what you do or do not comprehend," Giles growled dangerously. "Let me see her _now_."

"No," Joyce said vehemently.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Matheson said. "Even if I thought it'd be alright, which I don't, I must respect Mrs. Summers wishes concerning her daughter, and she most obviously does not want Buffy to have contact with you."

And that triggered the release of something he could barely control. Reckless, blind rage flashed through his veins, and he felt a frighteningly familiar presence make itself known in his mind. Ripper. "I don't give a damn what that bitch wants, you bloody pillock!" he bellowed. Then he turned toward the end of the hallway and shouted: "BUFFY!"

Meanwhile, just a few yards down the hall, in the recreation room watching the six o'clock news, Buffy heard the commotion outside and tuned in her Slayer hearing.

"You are not seeing Buffy!" she heard her mother shout. Knitting her eyebrows in confusion, she stood up and headed for the door. But several nurses and orderlies had obviously surmised what was going on and blocked her from opening the door. She heard a tight, angry voice say something she could not quite catch, though the voice sounded familiar. Then she heard Dr. Matheson and her mother again.

"I don't give a damn what that bitch wants, you bloody pillock!" Recognition ran through her like a flashfire and her heart rate sped up as she struggled to get past the orderlies. "BUFFY!" she heard Giles roar.

"Giles!" she answered back as she fought against the orderlies. Even without her strength, desperation fueled her and allowed her to fight her way past the orderlies.

Giles' head shot up upon hearing her voice, his eyes scanning the hallway for the source. "Buffy!" he called out again, urgently, pushing past Joyce, "where are you?"

A second later, a door was flung open and Buffy exploded from a large room just ahead of him, dragging several orderlies behind her as they clung to her arms. "Giles!" she shouted again.

Giles tried to run toward her, only to find Joyce and Matheson had grabbed hold of his arms. "Stay away from her, you bastard!" Joyce screamed.

"Buffy!"

"Giles! God! I was afraid you were dead!" Buffy called out, struggling against three large orderlies. Giles wondered why she couldn't throw them off. They were just men, and she was naturally so much stronger. But he didn't have time to ponder it. "Giles! Are you alright? Please tell me you're alright!" she demanded earnestly as the man started dragging her off in the opposite direction.

"I'm fine, Buffy!" he answered. But he was immediately proven a liar when what he supposed was a security guard wrapped his arms around Giles' stomach and pulled backward hard. Giles fell to his knees with a pain-filled gasp.

"Giles!" Buffy screeched.

For a moment, Giles could not answer, as he gritted his teeth against the pain and fought hard not to faint. Then he looked up to see Buffy being drug into a stairwell at the end of the hallway. "I'll get you out, Buffy!" he screamed at her. "I swear!" And just as her head disappeared around the corner of the stairwell, he saw her nod silently, eyes filled with fear and trust in him.

The security guard was still holding him down, pressing against his back as he knelt on the floor. Joyce and Matheson watched the scene, silent and grim. Spurred by his rage, Giles lurched to his feet, flinging the guard off his back. Then he spun around on the balls of his feet and proceeded to send the guard to the floor on his back with a well-placed uppercut. The guard tried to stand, but Giles kicked him viciously in the ribs and he fell again.

"Stay down," Giles told him in a hard voice, his eyes flashing. The guard gasped and winced at the pain spreading through him and, for the moment at least, did as he was told.

Giles turned to Matheson and loomed over him menacingly. Grabbing the doctor by the collar of his nice suit, he hauled the man forward and off the floor. Leaning forward so his nose nearly touched Matheson's, Giles growled: "mark my words. I will get her out of here. No matter what. And if anything happens to her in the meantime, anything at all, I will peel your skin off one agonizing inch at a time and wear it as a coat! Got it!"

Matheson nodded frantically as fear spread across his shocked face. When Giles set him on his feet again, he scrambled away quickly until he hit the wall behind him. The final thing Giles did round on Joyce. He fixed her with a stare that struck her like lightning and froze her to the spot. And his voice was low and terrifying in its tightly controlled power when he next spoke.

"You had better pray to every god you can think of that she eventually forgives you for this. Because. I. Never. Will." That said, he walked down the hall and out the front door, his pace and posture decisive, strong, and proud despite the immense pain. He was not going to let this stand.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know. If you don't tell what's wrong I'll never learn anything and I'll never stop sucking at this writing thing. So please, review! 


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